


Forever a Wolf

by StarkMad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Infidelity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkMad/pseuds/StarkMad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a wolf, ice and winter in her veins. Loving a stag did not change that but Gendry would never understand, he was not a wolf. She could not love him as he loved her, as she would forever love the one who shared her blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever a Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValKat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ValKat).



> Ironic that Robert's son loses his own she-wolf to the product of the R+L conspiracy
> 
> (Reposted and re-edited from ff.net)

As Arya watched her son reach out tiny hands to his uncle, asking to be carried, as she watched him shake with joy as he was twirled in the air on hands Arya knew too well, and as she watched the man carrying her child glance at her with unreadable grey eyes, she asked herself not for the first time if she had become the wolf version of Cersei Lannister.

She had whispered the cursed woman's name before long enough, it might have been possible that she had turned into someone she vowed revenge upon since the day the mad lioness had Lady killed and Nymeria hunted. She was afraid at first, then slowly, acceptance started seeping in as the parallels of her life to the once queen did not draw as much self loathing as she would have expected.

Returning to Westeros, returning to everything she had left behind, meant seeing faces, ghosts, she only saw in her dreams. She had left as a wolf, gone into hiding, and returned as a wolf out for blood. She had finished her list and the war was over, winter still had its hold on the realm but almost all could smell spring coming. Winter was never over here in the north, she had to remind herself.

With the help of the dragons, the Others were driven back once again into their sleep, to awaken a thousand years later. At least she would be dead by then and her children and their children, let the future worry about itself for when the next winter will come.

She watched as the boy's uncle kissed her son's brow, their hair, both as dark as her own.  _'At least my son carries his supposed father's coloring'._ A point the lion twins must have missed when they rutted away making pretty golden haired children, she thought dryly. She walked to them then, never looking away from those grey eyes, mirroring her own.

He looked so much like a younger version of their-her father, the late Lord Eddard Stark, that it sometimes made her gag thinking about what the Lord Stark might have had to say about their situation.

_Gods, they look so alike_. She observed silently, again, not for the first time, as her son turned his dark head of curls with warm pools of grey for eyes. It was obvious their son carried the Stark look.

As did Arya and her son's uncle.

An unbearable itch started in her belly as she neared them. Her body already reacting to the sight of him, to the smell of him. She knew his scent, he carried the north on him at all times, like the sharp fresh breath of air that came with winter storms. Like pine needles and the summer snows she was so fond of as a child. He smelled of home, of the home she had lost long long ago. He would not break their eye contact, but she observed too well that his body was also reacting to her presence.

"Mother! Uncle Jon says he will be here a week for my nameday before he heads back to the Wall!"

She smiled back at her child, only nodding, before returning her eyes on the brother that was not her brother anymore. She had lost him once, to treachery on the Wall, a second to the truth that he was born of Stark and Targaryen. Now, she did not know what she would do if she were to lose him a third time.

The second had already started something she could not stop even if she wanted to.

"Uncle, I will be six soon, and father says I can visit Aunt Sansa in the Vale when he returns."

Her son twittered on happily before he slipped off and headed towards Nymeria and Ghost lounging near the edge of the godswood. His own direwolf pup following and nipping at his heels.

"You look well." His eyes looking away as he watched her son tumble off swinging a wooden playsword in his hands.

She snorted at as she crossed her arms. "No thanks to you. The Wall treating you well?"

"Arya, I-"

"I was only japing. Not about the second part though. How is the Wall faring this late into winter?"

She watched as his brows nitted together, looking very much like the late Eddard Stark, all serious and all Stark. Gone was the brother who would muss up her already messy hair. And for all the love he held for her, he was not a Lannister, even being part Targaryen, his sense of honor from growing up a Stark topped everything.

She hated the guilt and shame in his eyes, reminding her of her own, whenever they did what house Targaryen had been partly known for. He was not her twin, not her brother, but a cousin still, sharing the same Stark blood and look.

He did not answer, knowing the words were just words, said with no real purpose. She watched him, watched the debate in his eyes, and suddenly did not want to wait. Waiting was never her strong point.

She walked past him, snorting again, but brushing the back of her hand against his front as she passed, and walked towards the godswood. There, their words would have meaning. She did not need to look to know he would follow, she walked weaving through the trees and old paths into a small clearing where their heart tree still stood, its bone white boughs hanging over the spring that never ran cold.

He was behind her then, pressing against her back, groping her, brushing her dark curls away from her neck as his lips found purchase their. She rested her hands on his, as if to stop the advances, but not pulling away all the same.

At least he made up his mind, she thought unkindly. Not a Targaryen, indeed. She could feel his need press hard against her back, and she let whatever sound that wanted to escape her throat free. They would not be bothered here, not here in their woods.

Bran might know, Bran had always known, Bran could be watching them right now through the eyes that bled red sap, but Bran was too far away to say anything that could stop them now.

Her thoughts were muddled as his fingers burned trails of searing fire on her skin. He tugged at her breeches from behind and cursed, giving her a small bite behind her shoulder.

"Keeping to men's clothing still?"

She was about to let out a witty reply but thought better as a finger slipped between her folds. She was reaching behind as well, pulling his own breeches down in vain. She lost her footing as his lips claimed hers, their tongues pressing and licking, their teeth nipping at swollen lips. They tumbled on the soft ground that was damp with fresh melted snow, collapsing in a tangled panting heap.

" _Gods_ , Arya, I cannot _stop_. Tell me to stop." His lips ghosting over hers, his eyes, chips of grey stone, burning with desire and turmoil.

"No. Please, Jon." She breathed, before his lips crushed into hers once again.

"I cannot stop dreaming...of you, of your body. What have you done to me?"

She did not know how to reply, only to bite his neck. It wasn't her fault, just like the first time they did this was not her fault. She almost growled as he pulled away shakily. He discarded his clothes, freeing his cock that looked bigger than she remembered. She pushed herself up to stand baring herself naked in front of him. She felt his breath hitch as he followed suit, his eyes taking every detail about her, and all she could see in his eyes was want.

She led him to the pool, to the large stone where she sat, her knees barely in the water. He dived into the hot water and surfaced in front of her, sliding his calloused hands up her sides, making her shiver.

Her knees held onto his sides as he rose to catch a hard nipple in his mouth, playing with her breasts with one hand and tongue as his other hand traced patterns on her belly and thighs. Her hands tangled themselves in his dark hair, and then ran them up and down his strong sinewy arms.

He broke away again, making her shiver at the loss of heat. He looked up at her, both of them partly hidden by the shadows of the trees, grey met grey, and they knew they would never be able to stop.

He spread her legs then and watched with fascination as her folds glistened with her juices. He had never seen her under the light, and she watched as he dipped one hand back into the pool, most likely to stroke himself. She gripped his shoulders, then the back of his neck, as he leaned forward and gave her a tentative lick, causing jolts to wrack her body. He smiled at her reaction, as she glared at him for teasing.

His hands gripped her waist then, to steady her from sliding into the pool even as she moaned loud enough for some nearby birds to fly off. He slipped a finger, then two, as she started to rock against him, positively as loud and lewd as they had done the first time.

She came not moments after and slipped into the hot spring. Her body was burning but that did not keep her from pressing against him, even if the sensitivity from her climax had her wobbly and grabbing at him for support. He hitched her thigh up on his hip and entered her so suddenly she screamed as white flooded her eyes. He quickly clamped his lips over hers, she heard him pray no one heard.

"You're too loud." He looked amused, but with a feral look in his eyes.

"Not my fault."

"Out of the water, quick."

He waded backwards, but still inside her, and pushed himself up on a smooth rock. She lifted her up as if she weighed nothing and let her slide over him, up and down and up and down his hard shaft. He buried his face in her breasts as his hands grabbed her arse and hips. When her legs gave way, he ground up to her, causing them to go breathless as she came, arching against him, and calling his name.

He shuddered and Arya felt his seed fill her. They leant on each other for support then scrubbed the stickiness away in the pool, dressing quietly. She did not want to see the shame in his eyes but she knew he was hers and she was his completely.

He would come to her tonight. She loved him, and she partly understood what the Lannister twins had, only, she would not let her little Ned be a monster like Joffrey. Unlike Cersei, she at least had truly loved her husband. But he was not a Stark, not a northernman to understand. She loved Gendry, first as a friend, then as a man, but he was not a wolf and wolves ate deer.

The blood of House Stark will remain, more ice than fire, more wolf than dragon. Her son will never be a stag, and so with the rest of the wolf pups she will bare. And when winter will come again, her children will have both ice and fire, forever children of the north.


End file.
